


Define "Ironic"

by JayRain



Series: Define "Steve Rogers" [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Epistolary, Gen, If only Steve knew, Irony, Letters, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, The Avengers (2012) Compliant, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, ironic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 13,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayRain/pseuds/JayRain
Summary: 70 years after crashing the Valkyrie, Steve Rogers must learn to navigate not just the modern world, but his new friends, SHIELD, and all the strange things that come with being an Avenger. He also has to nurse some old wounds that no one would understand: except the recipient of the letters he writes as he tries to come to terms with all that's happened. (sequel to "Define Stupid")





	1. Insomnia

Dear Bucky,

Here's the good news first: we won the war. The bad news: neither of us were around to see it. The worst news: it's 2012 and I am very much alive and very much lost in this place that is New York and isn't. I'm not sure who I am anymore or why anyone would need me around as anything other than an old relic of a time long past. Or, more accurately, a scientific anomaly.

I did something stupid. I took on Schmidt. I won, but it was too late and I had to put his Valkyrie craft into the Arctic. I was positive it was the end for me, but I felt oddly at peace with it. It was the end of my line. Take Hydra's death plane into the ocean? Check. Die? Check. Give the Allies a fighting chance against the Nazis? Check and mate.

I thought I had it figured out, but that's the thing I should have realized. Every time I think I know what I'm doing, and have things sorted, something goes wrong. I wanted to fight in the war; I thought that's what I was made for. I thought there was no way we could lose. I thought the end of the line would be much, much further along.

New York was big in our time, but it seems even bigger. It could be because when we were younger, Brooklyn was our world. We knew there was a much bigger city out there, and an entire state, an entire country, but Brooklyn was all contained, like a snowglobe. I remember when you went to bootcamp there was this weird knowledge that you were still in America, but it was so far away. I traveled across the US in a tour bus in 42-43, and the New York of today still _feels_ bigger than even that.

There are lights everywhere, competing with each other, the way the Yankees and the Red Sox used to. I can't see the night sky. I can't sleep. Also, apparently the Red Sox finally won a world series. This is not the world I remember. Perhaps I'm still asleep and this is a bright nightmare. If I close my eyes, maybe then I'll wake up.

But I do close my eyes and I see things: the blue flash of Hydra weaponry, the red of Peggy's dress and her lips, the red of Schmidt's skull. I see the white and gray of the mountains and sky that day you fell. I think about sleeping and realize I slept for seventy years. I spend my days and my nights in a gym with no windows, just mindlessly hitting heavy bags. Remember when the bags used to weigh more than I did? Remember the first time I punched one, and it barely moved? You joked that a breeze must have gone through the gym. I wasn't much better on the speed bag, but then again, you have to be able to reach it, right?

I've broken half a dozen heavy bags so far, but SHIELD keeps replacing them, no questions asked. I asked about the SSR, and apparently they became SHIELD at some point while I was in the ice. In our day it was Peggy, Stark, and Phillips and some funding from Senator Brandt. Now it's an entire department of its own. It's sort of part of the government, but they don't really answer to the government. It's complicated. Politics were simpler seventy years ago. Or maybe they were still complicated, but it just feels worse now because I'm trying so hard to get used to everything else.

I asked around, and it seems Phillips died a few years after World War 2 ended. Yeah, they're calling it World War 2, and the one before that, right before we were born, is World War 1. Apparently SHIELD is around to prevent World War 3, or so they say. I'm not too sure what's going on with Peggy; to tell the truth, I'm afraid to look her up. I don't want to find out she died, but if she's alive, I'm not sure I want to see her. I might want to remember her the way we were. I might want her to remember me… who am I kidding? I look almost exactly the same. It's eerie. Stark died in a car accident about twenty years ago, but they say his son is almost just like him. And of course you… we both know the answer to that one.

Everyone I knew and cared about is gone. Even my home is gone. I took a drive out to Brooklyn the other day. Or rather, was driven out, by a SHIELD agent who didn't talk much. I want to tell them it's as weird for me to be alive as it is for them. I didn't get out. I just watched out the window, looking for something familiar. The last time I'd driven through Brooklyn was the day everything changed for me. You'd think a guy would remember that, but the images in my memory didn't match up at all with what I was seeing. Even Coney Island has changed. The only thing recognizable about that is the fact it's on the ocean.

I'm completely out of my element here, Buck. I don't know how to even begin living again. I don't know how to get back out into the world, not when I don't even recognize it. SHIELD set me up with an apartment and everything, but I spend my days and nights down here at this gym, slamming my fists into punching bags and writing letters to dead people. Neither activity yields any answers, but I don't suppose the questions I have lend themselves toward _being_ answered.

Someday I'm going to have to get out there and start living again. Today I think I'll just hit things and hope for the best.

Out of Time (get it? My jokes are still terrible),

Steve


	2. Blue

Dear Bucky,

Blue used to be my favorite color. I had that blanket my grandmother had crocheted out of whatever scraps of blue yarn she could find. I wonder if that was still on my bed when I enlisted in Project Rebirth. I wonder what happened to the old place, if someone found the key I kept hidden under the brick and went in looking for Captain America memorabilia to auction off. Yeah, I know it was a lousy hiding place, but it lasted a long time, right?

My suit was mostly blue, too. I was wearing it when I took down the Valkyrie, but I wasn't wearing it when I woke up. So of course thinking about that makes my cheeks turn red, because who undressed me? How did they get it off? Was I frozen solid? Yes, typical Steve awkwardness. Some things never change. I'll let you fill in the details.

You know, I liked the blue of the suit. It was just right. Red would have been too bright, too bold, things that I was not. Red would have been too violent. I always said I didn't want to kill anyone, just take the bullies down a few pegs. White would have been too hard to keep clean. Your mother used to get after me if I had a spot on my shirt after dinner. She'd loan me one of your younger brother's shirts-yes, I know, laugh it up, Robert's shirts used to fit me- and wash mine. Robert is a grandfather now, by the way. He named one of his kids James. James Steven Barnes is a lawyer in Jersey. Sorry, I know, Jersey. I told you the world was messed up.

And then you had that blue coat. All the other guys were content with olive drab or brown. Not you. Even as the sharpshooter of the lot, you had to wear that blue coat and stand out. How Hydra never seemed to spot you was a mystery, but then again, by the time we were out on our Commandos missions, the way you could move and fight was… it's hard to explain. Sometimes even if they saw you, you could take a guy out before I could even warn you.

Hydra's weapons had that blue energy glow. I remember that glow reflected in your eyes the first time you fired one of those guns and blew a guy's head away. Well okay, his whole torso. And the legs were just twitching? Yeah, pretty awful even now, and I've seen some stuff. There was the blue blast of light that tore open the side of the train, and left you in your blue coat dangling off the side of a mountain, and then it was just a disappearing speck of blue as you fell.

The sky was blue the day I took down the Valkyrie. It was fitting, since the Valkyries brought warriors to Valhalla after a glorious battle, right? It wasn't really a glorious battle though. Schmidt was too ambitious, and in one giant blue flash he disintegrated into nothing, and the Tesseract fell into the blue ocean miles below. Maybe that's why I survived. Because I didn't fight the glorious last battle.

I'm not so sure I'm very fond of the color anymore.

They found the Tesseract, you know.

Stark did, seventy years ago when they were looking for me. That stings, because Stark was willing to search the whole ocean to find me (and found the Tesseract in the process), but no one could be bothered to search a very particular stretch of mountain chasm in the Alps?

Director Fury asked me if there was anything SHIELD should know about the Tesseract, because apparently some enemy has it now. Not Hydra, not the Nazis… I don't even know who our enemies are anymore. Fury didn't tell me much. Just that I'd be surprised by all that's going on. He even bet me ten bucks. After all I've seen? I think I'll be taking his money.

The Tesseract is pure power, and nothing is more enticing to humans as power: finding it, harnessing it, wielding it, and discovering too late that it's more than you can handle.

I told Fury they should have left it in the ocean.

A little late for that bit of advice, but then again I've always been too late, haven't I.

I don't really like blue very much anymore, but if it gets the Tesseract out of the hands of another power-crazed individual before he can end the world, well… isn't that what I was made for? I'll wear the uniform again. I'll become Captain America again. To tell the truth, at this point I don't know how to be anything else.

Orange was always a nice color,

Steve


	3. Someone More Awkward Than Me

Dear Bucky,

I feel like I've been tiptoeing around everyone since I woke up, and they've been tiptoeing around me. It's like some strange dance. But we both know how good at dancing I was-Yes, I know, I wasn't. That's the point. I'm a terrible dancer, and I'm even more terrible at beating around the bush, so I've always just come across as sounding awkward, or blunt, or awkwardly blunt, and I'm doing it again. Seventy years on ice can change the world, but it can't change who I am.

I'm out ten bucks because I bet Fury that I won't see anything new and exciting after everything I went through. The technology SHIELD has is like something out of an HG Wells novel, and I can't really wrap my mind around it. Remember the aircraft carriers they were starting to use when we left for the war? This is like one of those; but it's… flying. In the sky. And it's invisible. Thinking about it makes my brain swim. It also makes my wallet lighter. What was that you used to say: don't gamble with people who know more than you? I lost a few bets to you back in the day.

I did talk with an agent named Phil earlier. We were having a pretty normal, just business conversation until the "It's an honor to meet you" came out. I got fairly used to hearing it on the road and learned to just take it in stride. But then he pulled a typical Steve move, and just kept talking and digging himself in more deeply. "I sort of met you. I watched you while you were sleeping. I was present while you were unconscious from the ice." Poor guy kept tripping over his words, and even though he's this buttoned up agent in a suit, one of Fury's top guys, he just reminded me of the way I used to be. It's refreshing after Fury, who sometimes seems indifferent: like everything that's happening is normal.

I'd like to go have beers with Phil, share stories, talk about the things we've seen. I used to want to just go have beers with Kevin or Bill after a show back in the day. Kevin did sometimes; most times he was too busy writing up reports. Phil and I are, essentially, coworkers, so it would be nice to just knock back a couple drinks. Maybe even become friends. I'm sorely lacking in that department right now.

I'm not sure what Fury's trying to do just yet. I met a couple other people who had me wondering if I was the awkward one, or if the whole situation is just too much. Dr. Banner kept looking around, rubbing his hands, seeming very nervous. But for once it wasn't me who was making him nervous, which was kind of nice. Banner is supposed to help us locate the Tesseract. From what I read he also has other interesting talents, but it make him uncomfortable to discuss, and really, none of it matters so long as we get the Tesseract from the hostiles. They say he's a genius, but he doesn't seem to want to talk.

And Natasha Romanoff… All I can say about her is she's a redhead and I know you felt about redheads. I'm trying to remind myself she's part of the team, but she's a dame, and dames bring out the awkward in me. Apparently even more than I bring out the awkward in Phil.

I want more time to get to know these people. I know we threw the Howling Commandos together pretty quickly, but we'd had the march out of Austria to get to know each other, and spent those few days in London. I'd seen what everyone could do. Right now I don't know what anybody does. Banner thinks, apparently. I'm not sure what Phi or Natasha do, but it's something. I know better than to underestimate anyone on Fury's payroll. Still, we're a random group of misfits thrown together and expected to be a team.

I don't know where we're headed next. I don't know if I'll ever meet this Loki, or if we'll even find the cube. I hope we do, because no one seems interested in sitting around to play twenty questions, and it's pretty lonely otherwise. I was literally made to fight.

Oh, did you know that they made Captain America trading cards? Apparently Phil has the complete vintage set. I'm actually interested in seeing them. I hope they got my good side. No comments from you, jerk.

Not the most awkward (for once!),

Steve


	4. Homecoming, Sort Of

Bucky,

We're an hour out from Germany and my heart is racing. I'm dressed to impress in a new suit: vibrant blue, almost like the one I wore when I started the USO tour. It's been reinforced with all sorts of things I can't pronounce. Phil said he had a hand in the redesign. He did a nice job. But dressed like this, on our way to confront the enemy, I just keep feeling out of place again. I feel like I'm in the wrong time, or worse, two times at once. With my eyes open, I can see the lights and bells and whistles of the jet's cockpit, and the moonlight on the few wispy clouds. With my eyes closed I can see the countryside, all destroyed by mortar shells and trenches dug like scars through the fields, and the bodies of soldiers.

So I'm writing this letter. If I look at the pen and the page I don't have to look at the future or the past.

It does feel fitting that my first mission with the reborn SSR has me going back to Germany. It's sort of like going back to where it all began. Yes, technically it began in Brooklyn. But I mean the real Captain America thing, where I decided enough was enough and some things were more important than image.

It's strange to be back in this suit again, when so many other things matter more. I asked Phil if maybe this wasn't just a little old fashioned. He thinks that with everything happening, and how uncertain our future is as a result, maybe the world needs a reminder of the past. That great things were accomplished, and can still be accomplished. He's a man of few words, but the words he does speak have conviction in them. Phil's a guy who believes in what he's doing. He believes in me, and in Natasha and Fury.

Bucky, I have no idea what I'll be facing in just under an hour. I've asked about Loki: origin, weak points, strategies, the usual. But no one can seem to tell me much. I point-blank cornered Phil, who eventually told me that I'd believe it when I see it. Even he seemed a little uncertain, and given what he's seen, that's saying something.

The other thing that has me feeling a bit out of sorts with this is that apparently Howard Stark's son is supposed to be part of the team as well. It feels strange because it's almost like old times but Peggy's missing, and so are you. Phil's a good guy. In fact he's watching me write right now and I'm paranoid that he'll read this; maybe he's got some super sight he's hiding behind his sunglasses (yes it's night and he's still wearing sunglasses). But I'm going into enemy territory without the Commandos, and without you watching my back. I always knew I could count on you to make the shots that needed to be made, even if I couldn't see you.

I've wondered when I'll wake up and realize this is all a dream, but then remember that I slept for seventy years. I am awake. The dream is remembering the war, before my best friend died and my best girl… well, I still haven't asked about Peggy yet. If I survive this maybe I should. I owe my past that much.

Feeling strange,

Steve


	5. Stupid Is As Stupid Does

Bucky,

Thank God I didn't bet Fury more than ten bucks. Or thank gods. I don't even know anymore. We may have tried to keep ourselves from giggling through mass, and may have gotten the stink eye from more than a few nuns. But for the most part I came out of that all understanding that there was one God. There's still God. But remember all of those old Norse myths Schmidt was on about? Remember how he said the Tesseract used to belong in Odin's throne room? I thought it was all bullshit (yes, I know, language, but after what I've been through today I'm entitled). I thought it was madness made madder by the effects of the serum on Schmidt's brain.

I never really knew or asked what the Tesseract was. Come to think of it, I didn't remember it was even called the Tesseract until Fury showed me the file.

It's not just an energy source. It's not even of our world, and that's what's so hard to wrap my mind around. If it's not of our world, what world is it from? If there's another world, does that mean we're not alone? I have more questions than answers. Except to the last one. We are not alone. Loki isn't some terrorist or dictator-though I think he fashions himself as one. He's Loki. Norse god of tricks. And he's in the brig of this air-boat as I write. Loki's brother Thor is on the bridge conversing with Fury and Phil. Phil seemed glad to see him. Even greeted him like an old friend. I think I'm going slightly mad. Remember when we sneaked your dad's good scotch that time? You thought the room was spinning. I did too, and then I couldn't stop throwing up. I kind of feel like that right now, just less vomiting. Thank God. Or gods. I don't know anymore.

Howard's son Anthony is on board with us now as well. He's so much like Howard: always thinking, always observing, mind never stopping. He's brilliant like his father, but he's also harder. Colder. Where Howard wanted to see how things worked for the sheer joy of it, Tony wants to know so he can have the advantage. He casually mentioned that he's decrypting SHIELD's software. I know the government keeps secrets (hello, walking government secret right here). But do we need to know everything? Tony just shrugs and says Fury's the master spy, whose "secrets have secrets", and Tony can't stand being in the dark. He has to know all the variables, he says. I know Howard was the same way, but there's just something about Tony that rubs me wrong. Maybe it's how reckless he can be. He's so overconfident that he knows the answers and will have a solution, that he doesn't worry about any outcomes.

But much like Howard, he makes me think and question everything around me. I'm in my bunk right now, pacing and pausing to write to collect my thoughts. I want to go search this boat to see what, if anything, Fury really is hiding from us. I desperately want it to be nothing. I want to go back to the bridge and wipe the smirk off Tony's face when I tell him there was nothing. But then I remember whose son he is, and I know he knows more than any of us at any given time, and I'm sure that I'll just end up proving him right.

I never told you that I would get nervous before missions. I never showed it, because I had a job to do. I'm sure you knew; you always knew me better than anyone, but you never said anything if you noticed. I have that feeling now, like I'm about to do something stupid, because I'm in over my head and feel like I have no choice but to act.

Why can't things be simpler? In our day we knew who the enemy was, and we fought against it. Now I'm told who the enemy is, but I have a feeling that there are more where I can't see them. I don't want Fury to be my enemy, or Tony, or Natasha or Banner. I want to believe in Phil's conviction, and that just maybe Fury isn't keeping secrets. And then I remember the smug grin on Loki's face as we brought him on board. I remember Tony and Thor fighting in the forests somewhere in Europe before I intervened.

The world has changed more than I can fathom, Buck, at least in this short span of time that I've been 'back'. I don't think I've changed with it; or I just haven't had time to change. Then I have to wonder if I want to change at all if it means becoming so cynical that I can't even take my commanding officer's orders at face value.

I keep coming back to seeing that blue flash of the Tesseract in my mind. Every life-changing event has started with that same shade of bright electric blue: from Erskine's serum, to the shot that blew open the train and blasted you out to your death; to Schmidt holding the Tesseract bare-handed and disintegrating into nothing before I crashed his Valkyrie. And now Loki's wielding it, and I have to wonder if he's the only one who wants to use it. Once again, the Tesseract is pure power, and I've seen what the quest for power can do to people.

I can't take it anymore. I've never been very good at following directions anyway, especially when they came from you. You guessed it, Buck.

About to do something stupid,

Steve


	6. Always the Good Guys

_6\. Always the Good Guys_

Dear Bucky,

It's always the good guys who take the hit for the team: the guys who go running in, doing something stupid when they should just stay back. But if they hung back, then they wouldn't be the true heroes, would they. They wouldn't take the hit and inspire the rest of us to swallow our pride. They wouldn't inspire us to put our lives on the line in the same way. I'm not being ridiculous, Buck, I'm being honest. If you hadn't fallen down that mountain, I don't know that we would have ended up going after Schmidt when we did, or how we did. I wouldn't have felt like I had nothing left to lose, that's for sure.

We lost Phil. We nearly lost the whole helicarrier and crew too, all because we let Loki play us. I feel especially responsible. I let Tony get to me, too; SHIELD wanted the cube not just because Loki means to overtake the earth, but so they could make weapons with it. Again, all I can see is that blue blast of light that took my best friend, and the closest thing to a brother I'll ever have, away from me. Fury said it was to protect the earth from visitors from another realm. All I can see is a person hoping to harness power before someone else does. It kills me to admit that Tony was right, especially when he told me that everything that made me special came out of a bottle.

Part of me worries that he's right, and I let it get to me; when it did, we lost Phil and some other good men and women, people who probably believed in SHIELD and that they were working for the greater good. In that moment I was just Steve again, the skinny kid from Brooklyn. You once told me, very sarcastically mind you, that I had nothing to prove. I never answered you, but I think it's because I was scared to admit you were right. I had everything to prove, and I still do, especially if Howard Stark's son thinks my worth only lies in what was pumped into me.

That stings a lot, so I have to prove to myself that Tony's wrong about me. That Phil didn't die for nothing. That as a team, we are more than just a group of misfits randomly pulled together as a last-ditch effort to save humanity. We're going after Loki, and we're going to defeat him. I didn't take on Schmidt, or survive in ice for seventy years, to let another power-hungry crazy man with aspirations of world domination succeed. Not on my watch.

Maybe it's stupid, but don't forget: you took all the stupid with you.

Natasha, Tony, Clint and I are heading to New York. I can only hope Thor and Bruce meet us there. It would be a mismatched fight to begin with, but those two at least help bolster us a bit more in terms of power. And then again, you know me. I love an unfair fight. I could do this all day. So if this is finally going to be the end of me, at least there will be this letter as a record that I went down fighting, avenging the human race, and one truly good guy named Phil.

I'll get him on the ropes,

Steve


	7. H.G. Wells Had Nothing

_7\. H.G. Wells Had Nothing_

Hey Buck.

Didn't think I'd get to write this. Didn't think a lot of things would happen. Almost thought I'd finally hit the end of the line myself. But I made it. We made it, and that's the most important thing.

A lot of people got hurt; some probably killed, no matter how hard we tried to avoid casualties. But this was the first salvo in a war, and if there's one thing about the present that's not any different from the past, it's that wars have casualties. There's always a human cost. I remember when I was touring with the USO, being amazed at the financial cost of war, and thinking that maybe they only framed the cost of war in human life to distract us from the financial aspect of it all. But after fighting with the Commandos, after fighting Hydra, and now after all of this… the financial cost is nothing compared to the loss of life, especially when that life is collateral damage: people who were innocent and had no stake in the war in the first place.

I don't know what it's going to take to clean up New York. I don't know what it's going to take to make my mind comprehend the things I saw. I may have to settle for just accepting that it happened and I saw it. Trying to explain things, in a way that I'll come to terms with, just may not happen.

Remember reading War of the Worlds? For weeks afterward I would watch the skies, wondering what was out there. There was no way we could be alone in the universe. If we were, how did people like HG Wells come up with these ideas? You used to make fun of me and I lost countless bets to you, and we finally stopped talking about it when you made me promise never to take the book out of library again. I kept my promise, but I never forgot that lingering doubt.

If you were here with me right now you'd owe me all my money back. And I'd probably tack on the interest as well, just to remind you that I was right.

But it's a bittersweet thing, being right about something like this. Now that we know we're not alone, and that the beings out there aren't all peaceful, there's this uneasiness of wondering what's next. I'm also happy to report that I was wrong about something. Tony. I was so convinced that he only fought for himself, and that he didn't care about the outcome, but when push came to shove, it was Tony who was willing to take the fight to the Chitauri on his own to save the rest of us.

He took a warhead missile (those are a thing now-warfare has certainly changed) right into the portal and detonated it on the Chitauri home base. I was certain he was gone; he disappeared into the sky and our comms only had radio silence. And then suddenly he was falling. Falling and not stopping, and only when the Hulk managed to catch him did I let my breath out. And then another moment of fearing the worst when he wouldn't come to.

Bucky, the only thing that could make me more relieved to be wrong is if you suddenly showed up in front of me, alive and well.

I fought my own war of the worlds that day in New York. I survived, and so did my team. I may even be able to start calling them my friends after this. HG Wells had nothing on what I just experienced. What is it they say? Truth is stranger than fiction? I never really thought about it until I started living it.

There's cleanup to do and damages to assess. Thor needs to escort Loki back to Asgard. And we all need to try shawarma, apparently, whatever that is. I hope it's better than all the boiled food we used to eat back in the day. It was Tony's suggestion. Apparently near-death makes you realize what you need to do in life once given a second chance.

I don't know what I'll do after this; warfare has changed so much since my (our) time. I'm not sure I could join the army, assuming Washington considers me ever having left. I suppose I could join the USO again; I'm sure the country's changed a lot since I last toured. But then I think of all I've done and seen and I know I can't stand on the sidelines anymore.

I don't want to think about it for now. For now, I just want to go eat some shawarma with my friends.

Wish you were coming with us,

Steve


	8. Shawarma

Dear Bucky,

Not impressed. I guess it's better than what we used to eat, but not my favorite. Natasha told me I should try Thai food. I don't know what Thai food is and if I'd even like it. I keep hoping something will be better than boiled everything. And shawarma.

Bruce and Natasha like the Shawarma; they've traveled quite a bit though, and have a better palate for that sort of thing. Tony's still on the fence. He keeps chewing, then eyeing his plate, then chewing… Thor just ordered his third. I told him he could finish mine, but he declined; something about honor and stealing a warrior's meal or whatnot. Clint ate his, but he caught my eye and mouthed, "Burgers?"

Clint's a good man; he's still wrestling with what he did under Loki's control. Every so often I catch him talking softly with Natasha. He's got a lot to sort through, but he's trying. Loki got into us all, but him most of all. I hope he knows we understand. That we don't hold it against him. But I was never very good at this subtlety thing, and I don't know how to tell him that I'm glad he's got my back. Maybe if we… no, _when_ we go get burgers.

For better or worse, I'm here now. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I know I have to do something and make some sort of life for myself. But I'll pass on having more shawarma in it.

Maybe Thai will be better,

Steve


	9. Finding Home

Dear Bucky,

Thor escorted Loki back to Asgard to face justice from his people. Tony headed back to California. Clint, Natasha, and Bruce all had somewhere to go. And me? I went… well, nowhere, really. I didn't want to stay in New York. Too many memories. So much is in a state of upheaval after the alien attack, and so much of it has changed from what I remember. New York used to be home, but now it's just another city.

I've been spending the days riding down any road I can find. I went through Jersey and considered going by Camp Lehigh, but my memories of my time there all include Peggy. I know I said I'd look her up if I survived, and I did survive, but there's still that fear there. So I keep riding and wondering where to go next and what to do with myself. The wind is chilly but it's freeing. I've gone through small towns and taken coastal routes through little communities. I don't stop long enough to be recognized, but I'm glad to see people safe and living their lives. This is why I agreed to Fury's terms. This is why I became an Avenger.

I'm going south, and it's getting a bit warmer. I know I have to set down some roots, but I'm not sure where. Tony calls California home. It just feels too big and crowded out there. I know, New York is crowded. But it's not sprawling in the same way. It's… it's like your grandmother's living room was: cozy, full of knickknacks, but somehow you can always find a place to sit and know you're welcome there.

I might head to Philadelphia and see how that feels. I remember the first time I went there: Captain America in the birthplace of the nation. The Liberty Bell. Two symbols on display for the entertainment and inspiration of a weary nation. Except, I've been to weary nations. I've seen war firsthand, and I'm not the goofy naive guy who was just looking for any chance he could find to get what he wanted. Everything comes at a price.

But it can't hurt to check out the city and try the tourist thing for a bit. I'm sure Fury is having me tailed, but it doesn't bother me. If anything, I'd love for whomever it is to come out into the open so we can talk. Maybe we could get burgers, or a beer, or just chat. Maybe they know a good place to settle down, or at least some good things to see in Philadelphia other than the Liberty Bell. I suppose I can start there and see where my feet take me. It's kind of been the way my whole life has gone, when you get down to it.

Just Wandering,

Steve


	10. Lose Myself

Hey Bucky.

So, new priority: start writing down a long, long list of all the things I need to get caught up on from the last seventy years, and not just historical things, but cultural things. Fury got me into the world-saving business so quickly that I didn't really have time to reflect on just how much the world had changed, and now I'm seeing it's more than just technology and fashion. It's culture overall, and I'm out of my element. At this point you could point and laugh at me and I'd be laughing right with you.

I'm not settling in Philly. It's got some great points to it: the Liberty Bell is still here, like an old friend. We both felt antique and out of our times as we stood there on a sunny Philadelphia day. Small children ran around, giggling and asking an adult-probably a teacher-why they couldn't ring the bell. The woman was endlessly patient. She kind of reminded me of our second grade teacher. I just hung back. Didn't want to cause a scene. The poor Bell didn't need to be overshadowed by some other outdated symbol, even if I did just help save New York from aliens.

While shawarma wasn't quite what I'd expected (not sure I expected anything, to be honest), Philly cheesesteak sandwiches are worth coming out of the ice for. Eating one, listening to the sounds of the city around me, it was almost like being back home, getting a hot dog and sitting in a park or down by the shore. I couldn't help but remember that time you scrounged up enough change to get a hot dog, and then a seagull swooped in and pulled it right out of your hand. I'd never seen you so angry. Until of course that time in Europe, when you blasted that Hydra agent with his own gun. Whatever Zola did to you changed you; I don't hold it against you, I never could. I wish you'd have survived, for lots of reasons, but most of all so we could have figured out what he did and get you back to yourself again. You'd probably enjoy Philly cheesesteaks.

And you're probably wondering about the pop culture thing. When I was on my way out to the helicarrier with Phil, he made some references I didn't get. Then Fury mentioned flying monkeys, and all I could think of was when we saw the Wizard of Oz. You told your kid sisters that the monkeys were going to come get them in their sleep. Your mother was so upset with you! But I understood Fury's reference. And I think people tend to speak in pop culture references a lot these days; it's kind of a shared knowledge, one I definitely do not possess. Being encapsulated in ice for seventy years will leave a guy kind of cut off from that sort of thing.

Philadelphia has an art museum. I used to really love going to the museum in New York, especially once I started at art school. There was something soothing about being surrounded by beautiful things. It was quiet. The art didn't judge me. A hundred eyes staring out from portraits, and not one painting had a thing to say to or about me. I think I needed that today. Instead I found people running up the stairs to the museum-most getting pretty winded partway up. And when they did haul themselves to the top of the steps, they'd pump their fist at the sky and yell, "Yo Adrian!"

I don't know who Adrian is. I don't know why Adrian warrants strangers running up the steps of an art museum-running up and not going in, I should add. Part of me was tempted to take the whole flight in a few seconds, but then I remembered I wanted to lay low while I try to sort things out.

I lost myself in the museum until about closing time, and then asked the janitor about the Adrian thing. He looked at me like I had multiple heads until I took off my hat and he realized who I was. Then he just laughed and told me to watch Rocky on Netflix. Bucky… what is Netflix? Who is Rocky? I jotted down "Rocky" in the back of this notebook. Then I added Thai food, remembering Natasha's recommendation. I think I'm just going to keep a list of things I need to get up to speed on. Things I need to know to help me navigate the world. I can't stay lost forever.

When looking for a place for dinner I passed by a little hole in the wall place advertising shawarma. It's only been a few days, maybe a week, but I think I miss my team. Even Stark. I didn't go in; I miss them, but not so much I want to recreate the shawarma experience. I kept walking and paused in front of a Thai place. I stared through the window and tried to remember that big globe in the high school library, and where Thailand was. And then I realized maybe it wasn't even Thailand at that point in time. Even countries have changed identities.

I passed on the Thai. I'm not ready for that yet. I think I'll just have another cheesesteak.

Stay cheesy,

Steve


	11. Marveling at DC

_11\. Marveling at DC_

Dear Bucky,

The last time I was in Washington I didn't really see much. I did a USO tour; Senator Brandt did some photo ops. Apparently he also passed along President Roosevelt's best wishes. Those early days are all a blur. But much like New York and Philadelphia and LA, Washington has spread out. It started as an urban center, and now for a radius of several miles it's still Washington. The things you think about when you think DC are all in the center, and it just goes out from there.

I got a room at one of the nicer hotels in the city, only because Fury's people, who've been tailing me since New York (told you so) insisted. SHIELD will foot the bill; spare no expense. Very strange sentiment to me, having grown up during the Depression and the War. Eventually I'm going to have to settle down. Get a job, make a decent living like a decent person. I never wanted charity or handouts, and I still don't. I'm over 90 years old, but I've got the body of someone in his 20s. I helped defend New York from aliens recently. I'm hardly incapable. I just try not to think about the age thing. Very strange to look in a mirror after shaving and know I'm that old, but at the same time, I'm not that old. Old enough to know better, young enough to try anyway, I suppose.

It's nice here. Or, at least in the center of the city, around the monuments and museums. Like any city, go outside the main districts and you'll find yourself in trouble if you don't know what you're doing. I don't know what I'm doing; even if I could take a bunch of guys in a fight, I don't want to. Those days are behind me. I don't have anything to prove the way I used to. Now I just want to figure out an honest living.

I spent time with Honest Abe this afternoon. Watched that craggy, solemn face stare out over the nation's capital and thought, "There's a man who held it together." So much depended on him and rested on his shoulders. People died on his watch and he kept going. The entire country was falling apart and he kept going. I don't remember much about Lincoln beyond what we learned in school. But looking at him now, sitting and staring quietly out over the nation he tried to keep together, I have to wonder if, at some point he realized that this would take everything from him. That it would change him. That he would give everything he was, that he would give up a chance at being just Abe, if it meant that he was doing the right thing. And then I wondered what Erskine's serum would have done to Abraham Lincoln.

Lincoln didn't have the serum, and he's been gone over 100 years. But his legacy remains.

I don't want a monument in DC, or even in Brooklyn. I've actually avoided looking up what people did with my image after I went into the ice and "died". Phil's collector cards were strange enough. I suppose that's why monuments are made after people die, usually, because it's too odd for them to live knowing that they've been memorialized. That also sets up for some pretty awful pressure. What if they make a monument, and people are marveling over it, and then you screw up? What happens to the monument? Do they take it down? Do they let vandalism happen and pretend it's warranted? I don't want that kind of pressure; I just want to do the right thing. I want to do right by my country and right by the people I cared about. If they… if you… can't be here, I want to at least honor what you all did. What you all gave up to do the right thing.

Who am I kidding? The worst pressure is what I'm putting on myself. It always has been, though.

Monumentally yours,

Steve


	12. Moving In/On

Dear Bucky,

If you ever feel like coming back from the dead, I have a spare room. Maybe it will make up for the time you asked me to move in with you after my mom died and I refused. I never told you, but it was really lonely there. I boxed up her things and kept her door closed and pretended the room didn't exist, even though it was much bigger than that little hole in the wall I called my bedroom. At least I still fit in that room back in those days. I would come home from work and make tea and make myself dinner, if I remembered. Most nights I just collapsed and fell asleep, unless you dragged me out on some doomed double date, or if we had class at the art school. Or if you dragged me to the gym in some godforsaken effort to bulk me up.

I never told you how lonely I was, or how much I appreciated you trying to get me out of my funks. You always meant well. You always treated me like family. It was never pity or charity, it was genuine, and sometimes I was too damned stubborn or proud to see that.

I've settled in Washington, in a little apartment in a nicer neighborhood away from downtown. Fury's people set it up, and in record timing, I might add. Like they knew I'd decide to stay. Like they knew Fury would offer me a job with SHIELD, leading their elite STRIKE teams, and I wouldn't be able to say no, because really, what reason do I have to turn him down? What else am I doing with my life? "Sorry Director Fury, it's a generous offer but I need some time off to write my memoirs and go on a press tour." Those seventy years in the middle would be awfully boring reading.

I can't complain, not really. It's a nice apartment, all furnished and mostly decorated. It's like an upscale version of the old place in Brooklyn. I wonder if Phil was helping to design this, too. He seemed to be Fury's resident expert on me. It has all the amenities and top technology, but I think my favorite thing is the radio and gramophone. I don't know how people get (or want to get) that kind of thing these days, but they're both in my apartment and it's just a nice slice of the past. I put on an Andrew Sisters album and sat on the sofa with my eyes closed. Aside from the smell of new paint, it was almost like being home again.

No missions right now, at least not for a couple weeks (barring any alien invasion emergencies). Fury didn't say it, but I think my mission is to try to get up to speed with the modern world. I've been working on my list in the back of this notebook. I said I'd find the library and start looking. I meant it, but Fury just raised his eyebrow. His second, Maria Hill, just smiled and said she'd be over tomorrow.

Tomorrow's only a few hours away. I should sleep; God knows I need it after New York. But I can't help but keep thinking that I slept for seventy years. Also, my bed is too soft. I'd trade this for a thin bedroll on lumpy ground around a low campfire, with Dum Dum telling his tall tales and Monty smoking his pipe while you call him out on it any day.

Sweet dreams,

Steve


	13. Stevie's Modern Life

Bucky,

I thought aliens were the weirdest thing I'd ever encounter in the future-I mean present. It's not.

One word: Internet.

Maria and Natasha came over earlier. 1940s me kept thinking, "Wow, I have two women in my apartment!" while present-day me kept trying to shut that guy up. Natasha is full-time with SHIELD and deploys with their STRIKE team, so we'll be pairing up fairly often. And I know Maria will report directly to Fury; I think she's taken Coulson's place. We didn't talk about Phil. I didn't ask Maria about his cards, though I wanted to.

Instead, they brought pizza and a twelve pack of beer and started teaching me how to use a computer. I caught on pretty quickly, as the setup they have in my apartment is pretty intuitive. People don't need to write things down in notebooks anymore. They don't have to type, and worry about having correction tape, or running out of paper when they mess up and have to start a page over again. The worst was the time my senior year English teacher made us write research papers with footnotes, and I kept messing up and not having enough space. My mom gave me the money to go get more paper and another ribbon for the typewriter. When I finally finished my essay a few days later, I realized she hadn't gone to get her medicine at the pharmacy and when I asked why she just smiled and said not to worry about it. My mom sacrificed her health for those damn footnotes.

People can use computers to do art now, too, and maybe if I have some downtime someday I'll try it. Though I really would prefer a good set of pencils and a nice heavy sketchbook. I mentioned it casually and Maria said, "Pencils and sketchbook" into her phone (which is this slim rectangular thing that looks nothing like a phone) and went back to eating pizza and drinking beer and telling me how to use a computer.

Finally it was time for the internet. I didn't know much about Natasha before this. I still don't really know much about her. She has a way of deflecting questions, smiling, turning it back on you. I think she now knows more about me than I'll ever know about her. For a while it also sounded like she was speaking another language: firewall, malware, modem, proxy server, search engine…

The internet is like having every single library on earth accessible to you at any time of day or night. It's every phone book on the planet in one. It's history and it's the future. It's a way to find people. It's a way to see the world, and even space. It's incredible.

Did you know people play games of chess and cards across the ocean? That Siam is now Thailand, and that if I ordered the Star Wars boxed set (another thing I apparently must catch up on) I can get it within a day if I sign up for Prime? Did you know I can get the complete first edition set of Captain America comics in near-mint condition, but only if I outbid some guy in Omaha, Nebraska within the next fifty-three seconds?

It's also scary. Especially after Natasha was pretty well satisfied that I knew what I was doing. She and Maria were getting ready to leave when she told me, "Rogers. Don't Google yourself, whatever you do."

I wasn't sure if she was serious, so later on when I couldn't sleep I Googled myself.

Bucky.

BUCKY.

Do you _know_ what people thought we were up to during the war?

Anyway. My phone isn't a rotary. Those have been out of use for two and a half decades at least. I have a landline but it doesn't ring. The thin thing in my pocket, which can also access the entirety of the internet at any time of day or night, rings constantly. TV exists.  It's also in color, and it seems like this thing called "reality TV", which isn't real at all, is big. I thought maybe the History Channel might be familiar, but there was just some guy talking about aliens. SHIELD must be monitoring my TV or something, because Maria sent me a message on my phone (why couldn't she just call?) to try the classic movie channel. Even some of those were after my time, but there was something comforting about the clothes and music and the way they talked. Some were even in black and white.

The grocery store is… well it's not the corner markets where we used to go pick up our canned goods. Perhaps most interesting of all is that first, I can get frozen meals that can be ready to eat in five minutes or less (very convenient) and second, there's nearly any and every fruit/vegetable you could think of: out of season or not. Foreign or local. It's overwhelming and I'm not even sure where to start. You and I, we were never really good chefs, and your mom ended up making sure we were properly fed.

Everywhere I go people are staring at screens, or listening to something only they can hear with these tiny buds in their ears. Someone asked if they could take a "selfie" with me while I was waiting in line at the checkout. I didn't even have a chance to ask what a "selfie" was before she flipped her phone around, leaned in and smiled, and this flash went off. For a moment all I could think of was the Hydra weapons going off and my heart pounded but then she giggled and ran off. I have no real idea of what happened.

Turns out I can use the internet to research history, but I have to be careful. I have so much to read up on, and one thing leads to another. It's easy to get sucked in and when I look up from the screen, it's dawn. This is contemporary life. Coffee and glowing screens. I mean, in the grand scheme of things I guess no polio is good, and the internet has been really helpful. Maybe I can hack this modern life thing.

So long as I never Google myself again.

Don't Google yourself either,

Steve

PS:, no I didn't Google you. I know what happened to you better than any search engine could.

PPS: look at me using the jargon. Natasha will be proud of me.


	14. My Best Girl

Dear Bucky,

I've only been here in Washington for a couple of weeks and Natasha is trying to fix me up with some dame or other. I think she means well. I want to think she means well. Maybe she just thinks I'm lonely. I agreed to a date with a girl from HR, whatever that is. It was nice enough, but we just didn't have anything to talk about. The only thing either of us really had in common was knowing about New York and the alien attack, and I didn't really want to talk about it. I didn't really know what she was talking about with other stuff either. She was nice, she was pretty, but it was a struggle. I offered to walk her home, but she said she'd just take a cab. I did insist on paying.

And then I texted Natasha and asked if she could help me with something. You know I'm lousy at asking for help. I'm lousy at accepting help when freely offered, as you well know. But I did make a promise to myself, and I did make a promise to someone else 70 years ago.

Peggy's the only person still around from my old life. Natasha did the digging for me, since she rightly guessed I wouldn't be up for Googling Peggy. Natasha compartmentalizes like no one I've ever seen. She gave me a file folder of information she'd printed out, "courtesy of SHIELD," she told me with a smile and I didn't ask how she got the information she did. She asked if I'd like her to stay. She offered to order Thai for takeout, and promised to have pizza on speed dial as a backup. Natasha confuses me.

I'm in my bedroom now with the door closed and a carton of Pad Thai on the nightstand. Smells strange, but I'll give it a try, especially if there's pizza waiting in the wings.

Margaret "Peggy" Carter:

\- Founder of SHIELD

\- Married in 1950. Kept her maiden name.

\- Had two children, a son and a daughter. Now grown, with kids of their own.

\- Retired from SHIELD in 1990.

\- Currently in a retirement facility here in D.C.

\- Medical conditions: Alzheimer's Disease, deteriorating.

Went to Google. Natasha's eating something called drunken noodle.

Alzheimer's: causes memory loss, disorientation, mood swings. It's degenerative.

So even if I do go visit Peggy there's a good chance she wouldn't even recognize or remember me. Bucky… I've never been very big on emotion, you know that. You were really worried when I hardly cried at my own mother's funeral. I was trying to be strong. I'm trying to be strong now but I don't know how much I have left. I knew Peggy wouldn't be young anymore; I'm the only one who was stopped in time, and everyone went on without me. But to think that she's disoriented and moody and can't remember things… that she may not even be able to take care of herself, and has been getting worse… those are all things that Peggy isn't. Peggy is the sharpest dame I've ever met; she's fit as a fiddle. She's quick and smart and…

"You don't have to visit her," Natasha told me later, over a pizza. Thin crust, with olives and pepperoni. I don't really know what I like on my pizza yet.

But I do. I made a promise, and Peggy's my best girl. She's always been my best girl, and I owe it to her to see her. Maybe it's not as bad as it sounds. Maybe she'll recognize me, and maybe we can actually have that dance. I still don't know how to dance, but that's okay. It's less important that I know how to dance, now that I know I can still have a chance at it. Better late than never, right?

Still lousy with the dames,

Steve


	15. Steve's Jobs

Dear Bucky,

It's been a few weeks since I wrote. I know you don't mind, for obvious reasons, but it's good for me to pause and write my thoughts down here and there. It's also a way of tracking my own progress for myself. I don't tell anyone that I write to my deceased best friend. They already think I'm crazy enough for not seeing Jurassic Park yet. It's on the list, but it's a ways down. I'm still working on Rocky. What is it with Hollywood and sequels?

Most of all, I work. If I work, I can tell myself that's why I don't see Peggy more often. If I work, I can tell Natasha that's why I'm not interested in Olivia from accounting, or Jessica at the coffee shop, or the nurse who just moved in next door. Work gives me something to do, and working for SHIELD gives it purpose. I suppose I need that. When I was younger I wanted to go to war with you and fight on the front lines. Somehow that seemed more purposeful than collecting scrap metal. I know now that everyone had a part to do. I wanted my part to mean something, but what you saw as meaning something, and what I did, were different things sometimes.

I've been working with Natasha and the Strike team. The Strike guys all seem to have a good rapport, and why shouldn't they? They all joined SHIELD around the same time. Went on some of the same missions together. Trained at the same courses and with the same trainers. I'm fine with any one of them having my back in a fight, but there's still a feeling of being odd man out. I guess being a "capsicle" while they were all off taking down a cartel overlord in Bogota can do that to you.

The Strike team will never be like the Howling Commandos were, at least not to me. They may see themselves that way: close, willing to take a shot for each other… I don't know, to be honest. We've never really been in any situation where that's come up. They have their jokes, the way we used to. They have memories they made: the Petersburg job in '03, that one time in Kyoto four years ago… stuff like that. Their experiences have brought them together.

Brock, the Strike leader, offered to train with me. I think he realizes I feel a little left out, not that it's their fault. I never made friends easily when I was younger. When I was younger. Feels funny to think that though… it feels like yesterday, because it was, in a sense. I went into the ice when I was 27, and now I'm 94 years old. I don't look it; I don't feel it. It's a strange sort of discrepancy.

But Brock Rumlow. He's been pretty welcoming, which I appreciate, even if I struggle to avoid comparing this team with my old one (or even with the Avengers). He's made an effort to speak to me in a language I understand: physical action. Fighting, sparring, training… things that don't change when you're a soldier or an operative, even if the times have. I remember you and I used to box it out 'round the campfire some nights when we were Commandos together. I know you were trying to work off whatever was building up after Zola's experiments on you. You couldn't ever talk about it, but the way we fought was as good as having a conversation. Some people use exclamation marks for emphasis; Bucky Barnes used his mean left uppercut.

Brock's no super soldier, but he's very well trained and knows how to use his training. I did floor him, but he put up a good-and skilled-fight leading up to it. It's good to learn one another's fighting styles. I think that's what makes a good team. Figure out each member's strengths. You, you were a great sniper. You were our eyes up high, and you took the shots no one else could make. Jacques, he was our rabbit. He was small and quick and got in and out (causing a boatload of destruction on the way, I might add). Jim Morita, too. Me and Dum Dum, all muscle; Gabe and Monty, intelligence.

Brock's good at seeing people's strengths and figuring out how the Strike team can best use those. He's got a good tactical mind, too. The last mission we went on, he and I talked strategy to get in and out with minimal casualties. It went pretty smoothly, though I think (and this is just between you and me) that Fury handed us this mission because it was relatively easy. I mean, after saving New York from an alien invasion I think most anything would be easy..

After our sparring session Brock gave me a card for one of his martial arts trainers, and mentioned that it might be useful to learn something called Par-Core? I don't know. The future is strange. He mentioned maybe getting beers sometime and getting to know the rest of the team better. He's trying, so I will too.

Nothing will replace the Howling Commandos, and especially you as my best friend. The Avengers was only close in that it was a group of fighters. None of us really worked together. Natasha and Clint did, but again, they had history together. The Strike team is closer, and maybe it'll be a suitable substitute. Time will tell.

Trying to play well with others,

Steve


	16. Ghosts

Dear Bucky,

I'm not an emotional man. Never have been. Emotions showed weakness, at least that's what my education on the streets of Brooklyn taught me. You remember what I was like when my mom died. I think you cried more than I did.

These last few months have been like the Cyclone going on in my heart and my head. I'm trying to make friends, trying to make a life, but it's hard. Sometimes I feel like I'm out of my mind. The other day the nurse across the hall came out with her laundry as I was coming back from SHIELD HQ and we both stopped and stared. She was wearing scrubs and clogs (which is what I guess nurses wear these days) and holding her basket, and her hair was down and for a moment I thought about my mother. The nurse wasn't upset or annoyed, and she seemed to know me more than a casual neighbor should, and I just kind of stared before apologizing and ducking back into my apartment.

And then this morning Natasha came by my my office at SHIELD HQ and asked if I had plans for lunch. I asked what she was up to. She said it was nothing. I didn't believe her, and when I called her bluff she didn't deny it. I get wary of Natasha because she's a spy and she's so secretive; but by the same token, she never pretends she's not a secretive spy gathering intel with every breath she takes, so I guess I can respect that.

Remember when we were kids and used to love going to the museum? Washington is great for museums. Part of being the nation's capital and all that. Natasha said the Smithsonian has a great cafe, and I'm always up for eating (gotta love the super soldier metabolism), so I went with her. What she didn't tell me was that the curated a new exhibit all about me.

I didn't expect any of it, Buck. I didn't really think what it would be like to see those faces again: Dum Dum and Monty, Gabe and Jim…

They got some old newsreel footage of us, too.

Tears are strange. They come from nowhere, no matter how hard you try to hold them back. Your eyes get hot and then wet and your throat starts to close up. You stand there blinking, clenching your jaw and your fists and hoping that controlling all of those parts of yourself helps you control the flow of tears building up. You breathe.

So I just watched and breathed. It was that time we were making plans to take out the Hydra camp in Greece, I think. I made some god-awful joke about the Greek gods and goddesses. You laughed and shook your head and told me to leave comedy to the bears. That was one of the few times you'd smiled since I rescued you. It was one of the few times you ever really smiled after that. Whatever Zola had done to you left you a different person. I never held it against you, and I still don't. I just want you to know that I noticed. You weren't alone, even if you never wanted to talk about it. I guess I just have to get that out for my own peace of mind. Not that it really matters to you anymore.

It was like watching a ghost, Buck. It was like Scrooge seeing the shadows of his past: so alive, so obvious, so clear, but so unable to do anything.

But worse than any of that was looking over at Natasha. I was hoping she wouldn't have noticed me on the verge of tears.

She was pale and her face expressionless. Even when she's aiming for no expression, she has some sort of expression. She caught me glancing at her and I watched her face change. "Your friend had a nice smile," she told me.

"I used to tell some really awful jokes," I told her.

"Used to?" she asked me, and we rushed through the rest of the exhibit. She didn't even want a latte from the cafe after. Natasha always wants a latte. She told me she was cutting back on caffeine. I'm not sure I believe her. We headed back to work, and she was back to chatting about any and everything, while not really saying anything at all.

Saw the blonde nurse again when I got home. She was bringing up groceries. I helped her; that's the gentlemanly thing to do, right? When I got inside I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and I had that same look like Natasha had at the museum. Like I'd seen a ghost.

Coming back has been hard. But I think it would have been easier if people stopped trying to remind me of my past.

Haunted,

Steve


	17. Friends

Dear Bucky,

I have a lot of time between missions. It's one thing that I can't get used to. When I first became Captain America there was never enough time: it was always go, go go! Next mission, next Hydra takedown, next debriefing, next camp. And then I was frozen for seventy years and thawed out just long enough to rush to save the world from aliens (still trying to come to grips with that, if we're being honest here) and now all I have is time. Hard to believe that in a world with so much to do I can't find anything to do to keep me occupied.

I read, sure. But I was always a fast reader. I draw: I've filled sketchbooks and sharpened charcoal pencils down to nubs. And I run.

Running is methodical, and I think I appreciate it because I never could run much when I was younger. Half a block had me wheezing; forget a full block. I always said I never ran away from bullies because I had to stand my ground; maybe, just maybe it was because I couldn't run away. But now, it feels good. Wind on my face, in my hair, sweat pouring down my face and back, the rhythmic _pound, pound, pound, pound_ of my feet on the ground, and breathing in, then out. In, then out. In, then out, over and over again for miles and miles.

The other morning I did… well, some would call it an obscene amount of miles. But it just felt good to run. I passed another guy running. Did a few loops around another part of the mall, and passed him again further down. He gave this sort of breathless chuckle, but the _third_ time I lapped him, he yelled, "Oh come on!" after me and started running faster! Only guy I've ever met who's crazy enough to attempt keeping up with me is you, Buck. And that was just us being crazy.

When I finished, he was sitting under a tree, breathing hard and gulping down water. His name's Sam Wilson. We only talked a short time, but I think he may be the first person who _gets_ it. He served two tours. He's trying to come back to normal life. He knows what it's like when the bed's too soft. I wouldn't be surprised if he too has slept on the floor because it's the only way he can get comfortable. He works at the VA. I looked it up: Veteran's Affairs. It seems to have come a long way since our fathers came back from the Great War. Our, being collective, of course. Then again, war has changed a lot since then, too.

"Come by anytime you want to make me look good for the lady at the front desk," Sam told me when I had to leave. He grinned.

I might just go. I mean, what else do I do? It may even be nice to have friends again. Natasha's great, but I don't always feel like I trust her, and she's been a little distant since the museum. And then on our most recent mission together… well. She and I are on rocky ground right now. But Sam, he knows what it's like. I think he could be a friend. So long as he doesn't want to go running at all. It may be better for us both if I stick to running alone.

I can't do everything alone. You taught me that a long time ago, and I think it's been haunting me a lot lately because, and I hate to admit it, I'm lonely. Work, running, art… they only fill so many gaps, and the gaps I have aren't quite getting filled by those anymore. I may have to take a stroll down to the VA some afternoon.

Lonely in DC,

Steve


	18. Insight

Dear Bucky,

I've tried to start this letter so many times but I can't seem to get it right. I keep crossing out what I wrote and starting over. I keep looking over my shoulder. I'm not writing this on the internet; rather, a little notebook I can carry with me that's more of a journal, since you'll never read any of this. Did you know people keep journals on the internet? It feels like nothing is hidden anymore. Nothing is private, and even everything we want to keep that way is somehow exposed, a raw nerve to poke and prod at.

I've said before I don't know what to make of Fury, and that I'm always a little suspicious of Natasha, regardless of how decent she can be. When she's out of the field she's almost a friend. When she's in the field, she's almost an enemy. I have a team, and it feels like Fury pits us against one another. At least I have Rumlow for backup. This time Natasha nearly got us all killed. It should have been a simple rescue; in reality I was the distraction so she could proceed with her own mission-that Fury gave her.

Fury calls it compartmentalizing. But I can kind of see where Tony Stark was going when he said he had to have all the variables. I can't lead and deploy a team of we're not really a team, just a group of people who happen to be going to the same place on the same quinjet. That's something Fury doesn't quite understand.

Fury showed me some concerning stuff yesterday when I called him out on it. He calls it Project Insight. What SHIELD is proposing could bring about world peace, he says. It's being proactive, he says. I think about fighting in the war, and all of the reactive things we had to do, and what could have been different if we'd been able to take out Hitler and Schmidt the moment we knew they'd be a threat. I suppose I'd never have become Captain America. I probably would have died of TB or been crippled by polio or something (which has been eradicated, can you believe that?). You'd still be alive. It's strange to think of what could have been if we'd stopped them before they even got started.

I went to visit with Peggy. She always had a way of seeing the world that was different, out of the box and critical, but not cynical. I kind of hoped she could give me some insight into things. She was one of the people who helped me realize I was more than just the dancing monkey in tights. She defied Philips for me; she got Stark to help me rescue you. She knew what it was like to have everyone tell you "No, you can't" and then go ahead and do it anyway. I'm not quite sure where I fit in right now. I was a soldier. I followed orders because I knew the end goal. Now I don't know the end goal, and I'm not sure I want to; but I don't like the orders either, and I'm not sure if it's worth being insubordinate.

Peggy's advice was… not as comforting as I'd have liked, but then again she lived through and saw more than I have. "Sometimes the best we can do is start over." I know she did that, after the war was over. And while it wasn't what I wanted to hear, she had a point. Maybe I'm trying to keep going the way I was, when I have to accept that things are too different to keep going. I have to start over.

But I'm stuck in a rut that I can't come out of. Heck, I even look the same, and I think that confuses Peggy. I never changed; she did, and the world did, and I was frozen for seventy years. Even the snow and ice shifted around the Valkyrie, but I stayed the same. When I visit her now she looks at me and while she's lucid for the start of our visit, it's not long before we're emotionally back in the forties once more.

Usually I go home after, or work out or run or ride my motorcycle aimlessly: things that let me be alone with myself and think about it all.

This time I think I needed something different, so I took Sam Wilson up on his offer and headed down to the VA. His meeting was in session already, and some of the vets were talking about coping with being back in the world. I researched the wars that happened while I was under and Bucky… our fathers saw some terrible things. We saw some horrible things, especially with Hydra involved. I know it was naive to think that ours was the war to end all wars, but the wars Sam's generation are fighting, and coming back from (if they're lucky) are downright horrific.

"We all come back with baggage," Sam told them. He didn't look at me, but his words definitely hit home. "It's up to us if that's a giant suitcase or a little man purse," he added with a grin that made people chuckle, me included. I added 'man purse' to my notebook for future research.

Sam talked with me for a bit. He treats me normally, and is one of the only people who acknowledges that I am indeed a US Veteran, who's fought in overseas combat. He knows, unlike other people, what that can do to a person. "The number of people giving me orders has dropped to… none," he told me with a smile. But he also told me about losing his best friend in the middle of combat.

Sam's probably been to the Smithsonian exhibit (I went again, by myself this time, and took it all in). He's probably read about me in history books, or at least on the internet (make note to ask him _what_ he's read about me on the internet. Or… maybe not!). He probably knows about how I lost you. But he didn't ask. And I didn't say anything, and he never mentioned it or pried. "It takes time for us to open our bags," he said. "Some people unpack everything soon as they're done. Others keep those bags packed and locked away and get freaked out if they think people are going to try to unpack it for them," he told me with a shrug. "I just help people realize what sorts of bags they're carrying or storing, and help them decide how they're going to deal with it."

I think I may need to start coming down to the VA more often. I realized I haven't stopped fighting. I went down into the ice fighting. I came out and had to start fighting. And I haven't really stopped since. Maybe it's time to take a break. Take a breath. Unpack the bags, and start to live again.

Pensive,

Steve


End file.
